


Tiny

by OrangeAmere



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Fear, Fluff, Gen, Gender Neutral, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hugs, M/M, Non-Sexual, Non-Sexual Age Play, Not Beta Read, Other, Prison, Self-Indulgent, Serial Killers, Stress, The Author Regrets Nothing, Worry, agere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeAmere/pseuds/OrangeAmere
Summary: Nobody had forced you to dedicate your thesis to the study of the Surgeon and the reasons of his criminal instincts, but the results of your visit couldn't be expected, and you shared much more than a discussion with the serial killer.Martin Whitly x Gender!Neutral Reader(Pratically spoilers free, I haven't seen the Season 2 yet)
Relationships: Martin Whitly/Reader, Martin Whitly/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Tiny

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! That fic doesn't follow the events of 'The Wolf on Him', but I hope you'll appreciate it regardless. ^.^ Please, comments and kudos, the author feeds on them. :)

You were chewing nervously on your bottom lip as the heavy door was closed behind you, by the guard. 

"No matter what, do not cross the red line."

Mr.David was the name written on his uniform. You noticed because your eyes kept wandering, observing everything at once in the long corridor separating you from the cell where a madman was kept locked in. Nobody had forced you to dedicate your thesis to the study of the Surgeon and the reasons of his criminal instincts, but your family had befriended the Director of Claremont Psychiatrist Hospital and therefore, you got the wonderful idea of focusing your thesis on him. If anything, it would guarantee you to have a quality result, since you had obtained through the Director the ability to meet the serial-killer and to ask him all the questions you couldn't have answered to if you had focused your efforts on Nero's existence, as you had first imagined. 

Howewer, you spent the previous week unable to stop the growing anxiety and uncomfort. You didn't sleep at all the night before, thinking of your questions over and over again, imagining everything that could wrong during the meeting. You were dressed up and washed before dawn, holding your small leather backpack tightly on your chest as you waited for the Sun to rise before you'd leave toward the Hospital. 

Entering the building, much cleaner and with more lights than in horror movies, you couldn't hold back the shudder in you. It was now. It was going to happen. You were going to find yourself, alone in a room with a deadly man. 

Your fingers trembled so much that you could barely hold the pen, signing up many papers about how the Hospital wouldn't be responsible if something happened to you in the presence of Martin Whitly. And then, you were guided in a long corridor, through many doors, and because of the overwhelming fear in you, lost any sense of direction. Your inner compass had gone wild, your heart was pounding loudly, and if it wasn't for Mr.David who gestured for you to step in, you may have frozen on the spot. 

You walked in, not feeling your legs anymore, but the two loyal soldiers carried you regardless. The cell was bigger than you could have thought, with fancy rugs, and shelves filled with complicated-looking books. It was bigger than the flats of many students you knew, and yet, after the bitter, burning spark of jealousy and unfairness, you were reminded by the Doctor Whitly it was still a cell.

As he slowly turned, you noticed the handcuffs keeping his wrists tied together, and the leash, from his waist to the wall. The door was locked, you heard the iron noise of the keys, then nothing. The walls were swallowing the sounds, but the grip in your stomach was saying you were alone with the serial killer and suddenly, it was far too real.

He looked at you, smirked. You lost it.  
Your whole body froze, it was too much, and for a heartbeat or two, your eyes expressed the peak of the stress you were experiencing. 

The sensation wasn't unusual to you. Your age regression wasn't a part of your daily life, but whenever the exterior world became too much, you settled up your own little space, and slowly let yourself being dragged in that mindset.

Howewer, no matter how much, how intense your regression was, it wasn't similar to what was happening. In front of that man you never met before, your stress crashed down at once, and the shine your eyes changed.

You brought your hands shyly toward your chest, in a protective, deeply childish manner. What had triggered you wasn't the smirk, actually. It was his shape, his cardigan and how soft he looked. How he was radiating of the ability to take care of you. 

But he was also a stranger, and your eyes were wettened with panic. Broken gasps left your lips.

Martin was surprised to say the least. When he had learned he was going to meet a new visitor, he was delighted to find a new individual to play with. Howewer, barely seconds after they entered, the so-called visitor looked vulnerable... Not in an usual way. 

As the father of two kids, though, he recognized the behavior and immediatly thought of Malcom. Ainsley had always been the most outgoing of the two, but she also had her moments of shyness, stepping back and hiding behind her mother's legs. Exactly what the visitor was doing, but they were on their own and in an adult body.

"It's alright." Martin said tentatively, and was replied by a scared sob and a whine. "Look at me, will you?" He kept his voice purposely soft and gentle, and as you lifted your gaze from the floor to obey him, he realized you were indeed, as he hadn't dared to believe earlier, at this instant, a child. 

The doctor wasn't a monster, and he couldn't agree silently with the sadness of a kid. "You are doing great, good job. Will you please tell me why you are crying?" You couldn't answer between your sobs but he kept speaking: "It's all fine, it's alright if you don't. You are safe here, though. Mr.David is right behind the door, you risk nothing. And I am tied up, so..." Martin added, believing you were terrified of him.

But in this mindset, you weren't. His voice was honey, it was kind and caring, and if anything, you sobbed loudler since it meant you couldn't approach him. He was what had caused you that high level of stress in the first place, but the child in you rejected entierly the knowledge you had on the Surgeon. It was too barbaric, so you only kept his tender sides.

An another broken sob ripped through you, and you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands, whining:

"Don't wanna- Don't-" 

"Hush, hush. Everything is fine, you are safe." Martin said softly, taking a careful step closer to you. It was truly a difficult sight to witness. Your despair and panic was genuine, and he wished he could sooth you, that stranger who came to him. 

He understood, when you reached out, fists making grabbing motions toward him. As bizarre, incredible it seemed, your childish mindset found comfort in his presence. And if it was comfort you'd need, it'd be comfort he'd give you. 

"Wanna a hug." You muttered, your tears drying down as a lullaby came from the doctor's lips. 

"Oh, darling. I wish, but..." He lifted his handcuffed wrists toward you. But your big, saddened eyes and his touch starved self changed his mind. "Alright. Fine." If Mr.David glanced in the cell, he was going to be in big troubles. 

As if you had been waiting for his permission forever, you hurried into Martin's embrace, stepping past the red line without even a worry. Your anxiety had melted, staying in the background noise of your adult's brain. 

He was warm. His big, strong body was radiating from a reassuring warmth, and his chest was both strong and soft, having both the ability to protect and shelter you. Doctor Whitly moved his arms down, to hug you despite his bound hands. To anyone, it'd have been terrifying given the background of the man. Your neck could be snapped with one motion of his skilled hands, but instead, you felt his palms rubbing your back. You smelled his scent: A mix of disappointing soap, faint perfume and his natural skin. There was something so very real about his thick arms squeezing you, about his own thirst for affection, about two strangers ending up holding each other because, through clothes and red lines, they were humans. 

It lasted minutes, maybe twenty, and neither of you tried to pull away. Howewer, slowly, you left your little mindset and realized what had just happened. How you found yourself in the serial killer's arms, and how, even while knowing so with an adult mind, you didn't feel threatened. 

Footsteps approached, a metallic noise of keys and doors. Mr.David was coming back to pick you up. 

So you pulled away, and Martin didn't try to hold you back. You crossed the line again, flustered by your behavior, embarassed... As the guard unlocked and entered the cell, Martin smiled at you. 

"Good-bye Dr.Whitly." You whispered, before hurrying to leave the place, the secret hanging heavily in the silence. He had seen your vulnerability.

"Can't wait to see you next week. That's what you said, right? That you'll come back next week."

"...yes. I said so. Bye." You replied at his lie. It may have been an attempt at blackmail, but he didn't know you hadn't felt that safe in years and that an emotional part of you couldn't wait to come back and be held by Martin Whitly again.


End file.
